Come Fly the Night Skies
by LeonaWriter
Summary: An airline run by vampires and werewolves was not what he'd had in mind when he'd agreed to be MJN's new Captain. But Martin had already signed the contract so to speak, so he wasn't about to back down now. In time, he might even decide that it wasn't all that much of a mistake.


_Come Fly the Night Skies_

...

Martin had never signed up for this.

All right, actually, if he was being honest, and very, _very_ technical about the details, then _yes_, he _had_, but really, what he _meant_ was that he hadn't _expected_ this. No one had warned him. Someone, he thought over and over again, should have warned him.

He supposed there were signs that he could have paid more attention to, though. Like the blackouts on the plane's windows, and the extra compartment in the fridge that looked like it had been a later addition, but was there nonetheless. That should have tipped him off that something odd was going on, but then again, nowadays that sort of thing was almost normal. The Night People didn't like being segregated from the rest of society just because some had a severe allergy to, say, the sun, or maybe silver or whatever else could possibly kill a perfectly nice and functioning member of society.

Martin had absolutely nothing against such people.

He just could have done with a little warning before seeing their steward come bounding up to him, pounce, and practically started licking his face. It just wasn't expected, and was, was, hardly. Well, protocol.

And then the first officer – a man who seemed several feet taller than him, regardless the fact that it was probably only _one _foot, and whose skin was somehow paler than Martin thought skin should be – called the steward off.

"Arthur. Down."

The steward – Arthur, he supposed – backed off a bit and Martin was fully able to appreciate just what, exactly, had happened to him. Arthur was still beaming in Martin's general direction, and now that he wasn't in danger of getting slobbered on, he could also notice – how had he failed to before? – the very bushy tail sticking out from behind, and the ears, how had he _not noticed the ears_?! They'd tickled his face. And they were definitely moving of their own accord, both the ears and the tail, so it wasn't just some elaborate costume like some people liked playing at these days.

"This is him, though, isn't it? Oh, come on Douglas! Obviously it is! He's even got four stripes on his sleeves!"

"...Yes," said the taller, paler man who seemed to be the first officer and also seemed to be called Douglas. "Yes, he has."

"Ah- but- aren't you _human_?"

Arthur did not, if anything, seem upset or put out by the idea. In fact, his tail started to wag even more furiously than before. As if being human was something special.

"_Ah_," went Douglas. "Therein lies the question. You certainly seem human enough to _me_, and yet..."

Why apply for a job as a pilot in an airline run by Night People? That was a good question. A very good question. And one that Martin wasn't going to answer just yet.

"Well, I am," he said instead, answering something else. "Mostly, anyway. All the bits that count. I've got a bit of warlock in the blood, I think, but I didn't think that actually _did_ anything..."

Martin trailing off had a very different effect from Douglas trailing off. Douglas invited someone to fill in the gap and start up where he left off. Martin tended to just leave a great big hole for conversation to fall flat into.

"_Arthur! Ar-_ Ah. There you are. I see you've met the new captain already – and Douglas, do stop looking at me like that, I may not be able to know exactly what is going on in your head, but I do know you. Don't. Even. Start. Oh, and Arthur? Your fur is showing, dear."

Arthur seemed to blush, and the ears and tail vanished in an instant. It likely, what with Arthur's attitude to life, wouldn't take long until they were back out again, however.

"Sorry about that, but it's really close to the full moon, and that's always fun because it's one thing being able to do _that_, but it's another actually _being_ a wolf, and you get to see the world in an entirely new way! Brilliant, right?"

Martin nodded wordlessly, not sure what one was supposed to say in response to that.

...

It took Martin some time to get used to MJN. To stop jumping out of his skin whenever Douglas would, unintentionally or not, creep up behind him. Or if Arthur randomly turned part-dog (wolf, really, but Martin tried to not think about that as much as possible), which happened rather frequently, like he'd anticipated.

It turned out that vampires weren't so sensitive to the sun as to burn up at the slightest touch of it, and Douglas stared at him like he was the crazy one and then started laughing at him for ages, wondering where he'd heard such a ludicrous notion.

MJN didn't even just carry Night People, he found out on their third flight. A hen night that was nearly all completely human. Business men who were more or less broke, but wanted to make sure they were safe during the flight – because who in their right mind would attack a plane that was piloted by a vampire and had werewolves on board?

Not to mention, Martin would think to himself ruefully, that his very presence there made it a... well. The closest term would be 'a place of truce'. Humans and Night People. Working together and betting for the cheese tray. It could be worse.

...

When Mr. Lehman died via a fire extinguisher – a completely normal way to die, that – no one expected him to start moving again about an hour later, in Boston.

But start moving again he did, right when Martin had suggested to the paramedic that he had just moved.

The paramedic had not been best amused. Martin was later unsure whether the reaction was more at the late Mr. Lehman twitching his fingers and making odd jerky movements or Martin's admittedly rather unprofessional behaviour of screaming like a girl. Which had also ruined the effect of him looking like he knew what he was doing, and that he had expected this... well. Maybe the latter was for the better, because ninety-five percent of the time, a zombie (and Douglas and Arthur had both identified him as positively human despite all other evidence seeming to say otherwise) would not wake up good, and their preferred food was not on the list that the international governments had decided was viable to give out or allow.

Paramedics had experience with such things. They had to. Airline pilots, on the other hand, generally _didn't_, Douglas apparently excluded from this generalisation. Because apparently, Douglas had known exactly what to do.

'Exactly what to do' had included stabbing a silver stiletto through the man's head.

Martin, who had been perfectly in control up until that moment – if the momentary lapse of professionalism which included screaming and panic was forgotten – fainted. And by the time he came to again, the paramedic – and the body – had gone, although he had a queasy feeling that the silver stiletto was, yet again, in Douglas' possession, somehow.

And as if this wasn't bad enough, on the way back out, when they told him that he couldn't bring his _nasal hair trimmers_ onboard in the hand luggage...

He had opened his mouth and said some very stupid things about how, as the only human being on the plane, he had no weakness or bane to speak of, and besides which, he was the _Captain_, and he could do a lot more damage than nasal hair trimmers could dream of-

At some point during his tirade they had taken him aside rather roughly for questioning, stating the Terrorism Act, and Potential Breach of Treaty.

It had been up to Carolyn to extricate him from the grip of the authorities, pointing out point blank that she wouldn't let anyone she thought of as dangerous near Arthur, and have you seen Arthur? Currently, he's looking around duty free for Toblerones, tail wagging. Yes, you did hear what she'd just said quite clearly. Now, please unhand her idiot pilot before he can do himself any _more_ damage.

In the end, he missed his interview with EasyJet by quite a bit. Although he did feel rather touched that the others would stick up for him like that.

...

Hester Macaulay was a nature spirit, and she was beautiful.

To be specific, she was a water spirit, and she had slightly pearly-blue skin, her hair a darker blue than the rest of her and hanging from her head like it was made of reeds or something. Martin found himself staring every time he had the opportunity. Which, unfortunately, wasn't often, since he was too busy flying the plane to watch what the passengers – single, rather than plural this time – were doing.

Arthur had been so uncontrollably excited at the prospect of her flying with MJN that his tail hadn't stopped wagging ever since they'd gotten the news, and Carolyn hadn't been able to reign him in and get him to put the fur away, as she'd often say.

Douglas had been on the brink of laughter ever since Arthur had revealed that Excalibur was a vampire.

All that had changed suddenly during the flight – Martin, to be honest, didn't know even if it was a sudden thing, only that the next time Arthur came in with the coffee it was kind of cold and Arthur was drooping. With most people this wouldn't be such a literal description, but with Arthur it was – his tail and ears would droop, and now his tail had stopped wagging it was, well, rather obvious that something was the matter.

Douglas had shot him a look, one that said, quite clearly, not to say anything, and Martin didn't. He smiled, though, and said thank-you for the coffee. Once Arthur was gone, he asked what was going on. Surely Douglas must have been able to hear _something_...?

Douglas had. Douglas was, however, still not saying.

He and Carolyn both blamed Douglas for the misunderstanding later on. And, for the first if not last time, Douglas, well over a century old, was rightly mollified.

...

"I've always wanted to be an airline pilot," Martin found himself confiding in Douglas. "Ever since I was six."

Douglas leaned back in the co-pilot's seat, and looked sideways at him, a faint smile on his face.

"Oh, and before that?"

"I wanted to be an aeroplane."

It was odd, saying this, and he half expected Douglas to start laughing at him, but he didn't. Another, smaller part, felt like he was back at school, confiding silly, impossible things to imaginary friends.

"You know, with that warlock blood of yours, you could probably do it. They've been finding out new things that're possible for years now, since the first of us started coming out and revealing ourselves."

"Douglas..."

"I'm serious, Martin. You could do whatever you liked, if you wanted to."

"It- it's not that. I mean, some of it is, back then it wasn't as easy as it is now, but. Look, while I was at school, all I really aimed at was completing my studies with as few people as possible finding out- it's fine _now_, but back then? It... they didn't _like_ it when strange things happened in class. I know, because a couple of the other kids were unlucky enough to not have enough control. And then, in flight school, I was always so busy with trying to be a _pilot_ that I never had the time to do anything else, let alone study something as dangerous and risky as _magic_. And now... well... you know how some landlords don't allow pets, and some don't like it when you redecorate? Well... mine doesn't like magic."

Douglas frowned, and hummed.

"Well, if you ever decide you do want to learn, I'm sure I can get in touch with someone who knows someone."

"Oh. Thank you. I- I'll keep that in mind." It was kind of touching, really, although they both knew how little time Martin would have to learn, since days off were few and far between, and Carolyn's habit of scheduling them flights out of the blue completely disrupted any chance of proper training with regular dates. "Why, what did you want to be? Before all, uh, this?" he asked, changing the subject back to what it'd originally been and away from his ineptitudes.

"Oh," Douglas said, leaning back and looking out of the windows into the distance. "Well, when I was growing up, my parents wanted me to be a medical man."

"You did? I mean, wow. That's certainly..."

"It was the late nineteenth, early twentieth century, Martin. People, as a general rule, didn't rebel against their parents' wishes nearly so much back then. I got out of it as soon as I could. It was a respectable thing to be, but... a bit gloopy."

"Mmm. So you became a pilot?"

"Not really. That came later. Once you didn't have to join the army to get the uniform."

"Ah."

He couldn't say he didn't see where Douglas was coming from. He'd almost forgotten his First Officer had lived through two world wars. He was going to say something else, but then the galley door opened to reveal an Arthur, bearing two steaming mugs of coffee.

...

Carolyn's sister was just as much a werewolf as she was, and her son no different.

Kieran, however, is as different from Arthur as it could possibly be for two family members. Arthur's more of a were-Labrador most of the time, all fluff and fur and a slobbery tongue when it's the full moon even though he's a fully grown wolf at that time (and a fully grown man the rest of the time). Kieran, though, is more like one would expect a growing werewolf to be, and seems to be out for either a job in the civil service when he grows up, or a position as pack leader.

Martin was also fairly certain that the boy didn't need an orange belt in karate – or any other martial art for that matter – to be classed as a lethal weapon, when he'd seen Carolyn bring out _claws_ for goodness' sake when she couldn't open that stupid vacuum sealed plastic.

Maybe that was part of the reason why he'd seemed to have momentarily lost leave of his senses and struck out. Or maybe it was simply because he'd been so very angry at bein spoken to like that.

Either way, it shouldn't have hurt. He was fairly sure that it shouldn't have, and after later talks with the others, he was pretty sure of it.

"Oh, _god_, he said later, as Carolyn tutted while she patched him up. "I was such an _idiot_."

He winced again.

"Hush, dear. Nearly done."

...

They were on a road trip in Spain, in the middle of the day and all they'd been offered to drive had been a baggage truck.

And Arthur was sticking his head out the side and singing at the top of his voice.

"Three men went to mow, went to mow a meadow! Three men, two men, one man, and his dog!" He paused. "That's where you say 'woof, woof', Skip."

Martin protested. It was going to take more than songs and a cheerful attitude to bring his mood up this time, and he said so.

Then-

"Arthur, do you mind if I ask something?"

"Of course not. What is it?"

"Well... why bother saying 'woof, woof'? No offence, but... I mean... can't you _bark_?"

He was expecting an upset look at least, or for someone to say that this was mean, or stereotyping, or something. Instead, Arthur merely frowned. Similar to how he had when he'd been asked to explain Surprising Rice.

"Well, you see, Skip. I sort of feel that it's the _saying _of 'woof, woof', that makes it worthwhile. Just barking isn't as fun. It's kind of like cheating, you know?"

Martin supposed he did. Or at least, he'd trust Arthur when it came to something like this. One of the few things he _would_ trust Arthur with.

But for now maybe they could try and get through this without... too... much...

_Oh_.

That, he was fairly certain, was the sound of the roof of the baggage truck scraping against the bottom of the bridge that they'd just been approaching.

_Oh gods_.

...

To say that Martin had been horrified at the idea of the airfield pub would be quite the understatement. But it was, however, the best word to describe his reaction to it.

Douglas had found him a short time later and explained what it was, and why it was, and Martin had stayed very quiet the whole time.

MJN, Douglas said, was mostly run by Night People. Some of whom had certain tastes that simply _had_ to be catered for. Douglas himself, for one.

There must have been something in Martin's eyes that had changed, because Douglas sighed, and suddenly he looked a bit older, and he tried to _explain_.

"Martin," he said, "the reason I don't drink isn't because I'm an alcoholic, that much should be obvious. I haven't _bitten_ anyone in eighteen years."

"But- bu-"

"I assure you, Martin. The Flap and Throttle is perfectly _safe_. There are absolutely normal human beings – just like yourself, although that is debatable – who go there just as often as the people like, well. _Me_."

"Th- that doesn't excuse the fact that you're selling alcohol _on the airfield!"_

Martin was well aware that he currently sounded like he'd just inhaled a balloon's worth of helium, and that his arguments had very little actual merit to them.

"Martin, you are aware that most of the people who go there _aren't human_, aren't you? That our tolerance is generally a great deal higher than you could ever hope to achieve?"

"W-well, yes... but there are still humans there! Which means it's still against the rules!"

"Well, maybe you _should_ tell Carolyn."

"Maybe I will!"

He would! He'd gather up his courage, and his nerves from wherever he'd left them, and he would-

"Except that tonight, as I'm afraid you seemed to have forgotten, is a full moon. Carolyn and Arthur both will be... what's the term. 'Unavailable until further notice'."

Martin's heart sank, and he lost the few inches he'd gained in trying to look like he knew what he was doing.

Oh. Right. Yes, he had forgotten that.

"Well, you could always make a start of it by coming down and telling them anyway. I mean, what harm could it do?"

'What harm', indeed.

...

After well over a year and a half flying with him, Martin could safely say that, all in all, he felt safer with Douglas than he did with any other vampire he knew. Not that he knew many vampires. Well, there _was_ that one time they realised one of the students rooming in Parkside Terrace was one, but she didn't really count, though, because for one thing she was one of the students, and for another, Martin hardly ever saw the students, let alone the ones who kept hours just as odd as his.

So in some respects, Martin had started to think himself inured to the eccentricities of having the Night People in your life – blood in the fridge both at home and in the portacabin, strange weapons that were, actually, not illegal but _were_ part of regulations, odd looks and territorial natures.

That is, until Herc Shipwright appeared.

He hadn't noticed Douglas easing up around him until he was so used to it that he didn't, actually, notice. But the moment Herc took one look at the crew, deduced instantly that one of them was human and that just happened to be Martin, Douglas seemed to change.

It was mainly imperceptible, but Martin had been with MJN for nigh on two years now, and had become used to his co-workers' idiosyncrasies.

That, and he had started to read a lot more ever since he'd learned what kind of company he'd be flying with.

Douglas, he realised, was feeling threatened.

And if Douglas was feeling threatened, then Martin certainly felt like he should. Which was at odds somewhat with how Herc certainly seemed to treat him well enough – apart from assuming that Douglas was still the captain – and had outright turned them both down in one manner or another for a position in CalAir.

Strangely enough, while Carolyn darted pointed looks at all three of them from time to time, she didn't seem to think that there was anything overtly the matter between the three pilots, and Arthur didn't seem to realise that anything was wrong at all.

Perhaps in the end it was for the best that Carolyn kept him occupied for the flight – and the delay – and Douglas had somehow managed to talk him into trying to chat up the admittedly every nice Linda. Who- okay, maybe that wasn't such a good idea after all, but it was better, in hindsight, than the alternative.

...

Ever since they had mentioned Arthur's father coming to St. Petersburg, it had been obvious to all who knew him that something was drastically wrong.

It wasn't even that he couldn't call the man brilliant; although that in itself was a big deal, it was nothing compared to the change his actual arrival brought on.

It was a well-known fact that Arthur could not keep himself in control well enough to stay completely human-looking all of the time. The moment something came up that excited him, the ears and tail would be out. In the werewolf world, none wore their heart on their sleeve quite like Arthur did.

Yet every time they mentioned Gordon's presence, every time they were in the same space, even if Arthur's 'fur', as Carolyn liked to call it, was out, it disappeared without a trace.

Even afterwards, it took some time for him to return to normal.

Martin wondered what Gordon could have done to cause that kind of reaction. In a great many ways he was glad that he didn't quite have the courage to ask.

...

Martin Crieff was born human, and so far that hadn't changed. He had warlock blood (but that didn't count for much). He'd had an almost unhealthy obsession with flying ever since anyone could remember, which had turned into an unprofitable career, with a company that lost more than it made. He was a Man with a Van, while his brother had gone on to run a small business and his sister was a married woman with some small influence and an important name. He was small, ginger, red-faced and the kind of person who the Night People, overall, tended to think of as 'prey'.

But since signing up to work for MJN (even if Carolyn didn't pay him) he'd discovered things about himself that he'd never thought about or considered before.

Arthur thought he was brilliant. Granted, there was a point when he'd thought that Arthur thought that _everyone_ was brilliant, but recently he'd discovered that this wasn't, quite, the case. And sometimes, he made Arthur smile, and the way Arthur smiled was quite the wonder indeed.

Carolyn, despite her ways with money and her love of keeping a tight budget for the good of the company, _cared_ for them. All of them. Even him. He could remember times when he'd been patched up by her (although he would like to forget that he'd needed to be), times when she hadn't acted like his boss, and times when she'd stuck up for them all, even to the rich clients.

And Douglas... Douglas believed in him. Well, at first he hadn't, at first he'd thought Martin was an arrogant, rule-loving berk, and sometimes he still did, but Douglas believed in Martin more than Martin's father ever had, and they played games in the flight deck and when Martin wanted to know why the world was cruel, or how everyone thought Douglas was the Captain, he'd try to explain, and for just a minute everything would seem better.

Before MJN, he would never, in his wildest dreams, have thought that he could possibly go toe-to-toe with an alpha male werewolf. Leader of the pack, so to speak.

But here he was, coming out from the place where he'd been hiding at the request of Douglas' plan (and Douglas' plans nearly always worked) bearing one very important bottle of alcohol.

Douglas had just called for him. That was his cue.

He came into the flight deck to see Gordon sitting in his seat, and felt that he was quite right to feel more than a bit of righteous indignation.

He asked Douglas if he could help, and hoped that he was keeping his voice level.

Afterwards, long after they'd found Arthur sleeping curled up like a puppy in the spot he'd used to be lookout, he'd wonder how he did it. And he'd realise that sometimes, there were more important things than being afraid, and more important things than what other people thought you were capable of, or, even, whether or not you were human.

...

AN: So this started out as 'Hey, what if MJN was made up of Night World stuff like vampires and werewolves and stuff like that? That'd be cool!' and originally, Martin was going to be something as well. But then I decided that it'd be just Martin's luck to be the only human on the crew.

Some episodes ended up with slightly changed plotlines because of this – Kuala Lumpur, looking at you, since he's well aware even after all's said and done that the pub _is still there_ – but mostly, things stayed the same. I have to say though that Martin screaming in Boston and being patched up by Carolyn in Helsinki are my favourite moments.

I haven't got anything else planned for this AU, but that doesn't mean I won't write stuff out (so long as it's short) if you give me prompts!


End file.
